Thanks to those of you who’ve clicked through the Amazon.com links and ordered things (yes, I know that one of you bought an orange silicone Speedo swim cap), I’m the happy recipient of an Amazon gift card. Which, obviously, will be used to buy a cookbook. And since you’re the reason for this season, I thought it only fair that you have a say. Learn more about each of these fine tomes then make your selection; if your favorite is missing, leave a comment. I guarantee with 89% certainty that I will purchase the book chosen by this poll.
I have been wanting to bake muffins for WEEKS. Ever since we went apple picking and tried to pry ourselves out from under the Great Apple Deluge of Aught-Eight, I have been dreaming of apple muffins. With nuts, without nuts. With cinnamon, with nutmeg, with ginger, with cardamom, with five spice. With maple glaze. With craisins. With cheese. With caramel. So many apples, so many kinds of muffins, so little time and stomach space.
So on top of everything else, I’ve come down with the cold that ate New York. Or rather, the cold that deafened New Yorkers’ already selective hearing with its hacking cough and trumpetlike snoring, and drowned the city in unctuous, sticky mounds of mucous from the never-ending supplies in our sinus cavities. Yesterday I slept more than the dog, and the dog sleeps 23.5 hours a day.
Hyperbolic? Never! THIS IS THE WORST COLD I HAVE OR WILL EVER HAVE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. See, even caps weren’t enough; I had to use BOLD. BOLD. Think about that. And then, if you are still healthy, go out and buy a little something special for your sinuses.
Thank god for lesbians. You know what I’m saying?
It’s been fun and all, with all these clever, witty guests, but it’s time to lower your expectations to a more manageable level. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but sometime this weekend I’ll be back.
Hello again, everyone. It’s an honor for me to host my very first smackdown. To prepare, I did “a Google” and learned that “Thursday Night Smackdown” was originally coined by Richard Wagner, in his lesser-known opera “Butterdämmerung” wherein the hero, Helmut, after being jilted by the beautiful Wilhelmina, spends a Thursday night pounding spätzle and jägermeister, and later gets his ass seriously kicked by a troupe of Croatian dwarves- wobbling unsteadily in patent leather pumps- who solemnly intone the Oompa-Loompa song (betcha didn’t know that Wagner wrote that, too) as they beat the living shit out of him. And thus did the sonorous “Donnersdagnachtuntergesmackt” enter our lexicon.
Hi everybody. How about a big round of applause for Claudia. Nice job, fret. Another guest host here, trying to keep the smackitude alive (and you entertained) while Michelle
pours her life savings down the slots in Atlantic City recuperates. Now this post was originally going to be for Cheap-ass Monday, but Claudia bogarted that, so it will just be a regular old catchy-theme-challenged post that’s differently fun to be around, and coincidentally also suffering from cheapness of ass.